


Interlude in New Orleans

by chelseagirl



Series: Ella [8]
Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-20 10:25:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17620691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelseagirl/pseuds/chelseagirl
Summary: At loose ends after their misadventures in San Francisco and points north, Heyes and Curry accompany Ella to New Orleans, where she's interested herself in a trial.  While Heyes gambles and enjoys all the city has to offer, Curry reacquaints himself with chanteuse Michelle Monet.  Will Heyes manage to stay out of trouble?  Could Michelle be the cure for Curry's broken heart?Takes place between the "Different Directions" stories and "Restless Heart" in the Ella series.





	1. Letters

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story in five chapters. The first is a series of letters written by Heyes' wife Ella, which connect the events of this story with what's come before, in an ongoing series of stories, and includes a visit to the McCreedy ranch. If you're not familiar with the Ella series, you might want to jump right to chapter two, when Our Protagonists arrive in New Orleans.
> 
> I'm posting the first two chapters on February 1st, 2019; the remaining chapters will be posted weekly throughout the month.

_Jeremy Chadwick, Esq.,  
Blue Sky, Montana_

_Dear Jeremy:_

_I’m sorry for not writing earlier, but there’s been nothing much to report since you left us two weeks ago. Heyes’s recovery has been slow but steady, and I’ve been spending most of my time reading to him, mopping his fevered brow, encouraging him to eat and to walk, and trying to keep Rachel from overtaxing him. You saw, when you were here, that she has grown increasingly mobile. She finds “Papa” a source of endless fascination as he begins to emerge from the sickroom. I have never used the word “Papa” in my life, so I think she must have gotten that from Gloria._

_Speaking of Gloria, she has been of inestimable help with Rachel, and I pledge that I will never again make a sweeping judgment about women in her former profession. She is a fine person who found herself in difficult circumstances and did the best she could, simply to survive. It might well be argued that I am far more morally deficient, myself, considering Heyes and I did everything in entirely the wrong order, and purely due to our own personal inclinations. But as we are an old married couple now, and Rachel is the result of our transgressions, perhaps the path we took to get here is beside the point. In any case, I am certainly not without sin and will cast no stones, in future._

_Dick and Martha have been absolutely wonderful in keeping us fed and watered. They’ve made the old abandoned farmhouse clean and bright and habitable again, for the length of our unexpectedly extended residence here. And considering this is the site of Sandy’s captivity and of Rick’s death, that’s something. I cannot wait to leave here, in all honesty – I wish we were coming home to Blue Sky, but our current plan is to return to San Francisco and consider our next steps from there._

_Jed Curry has devoted himself entirely to his partner’s recovery, and I believe that he would have the makings of a fine medical professional in him, though he laughs at me when I say so. He is caring and diligent and understands people very well. It’s fortunate that he has Heyes to think about, as he is tormented by Sandy’s absence and about his inability to reach her. But he knows, as I do, that the Blackfoot people have more to offer her than do our own, who’d lock her away and plunge her into hot and cold baths and whatever else it is they do in those horrible places. Albert Raintree loves his daughter dearly, and Jed knows she will receive the best possible care. As you know, I was angry at first not to have been consulted, but I realize now that there was no other choice._

_All my love to Melanie and the children, and to yourself, and of course to dear Sven. Oh, and if you see my sister, you might give her some idea as to my whereabouts._

_Ella_

_  
_

_Miss Caroline Fillmore_  
_Mount Holyoke College  
South Hadley, Massachusetts_

__

__

_Dear Caroline:_

_I am so delighted to hear that your first year at college has gotten off to such a wonderful start and that you have made so many friends already. I hope you find ever more and obscurer languages to study! I understand Romanian has its unusual elements, and I cannot imagine you letting Sanskrit pass you by entirely. Of course I was completely unqualified to instruct you in classical Greek, having gotten no further than schoolboy Latin myself – is there such a thing as schoolgirl Latin? So much for you to learn! I do hope you will not neglect history or the natural sciences entirely._

_We have sold the house in San Francisco, and are putting everything in storage, in anticipation of a more peripatetic lifestyle for awhile. The Western Star is out of business, and anyway, Jed is asserting himself and says he needs a change of scenery. He misses Sandy very much, and these surroundings have become painful to him._

_Heyes is unusually quiet these days. Everything still takes him a great deal of energy. Jed and I are going to take him to Texas, to the ranch of a wealthy friend of theirs, a Mr. McCreedy, who sounds quite a character. And from there, I’m uncertain. I will, of course, write and let you know._

_Rachel points at your photograph and exclaims “Caro” on a regular basis, so you are not forgotten by your youngest friend, either._

_Much love,_

_Ella_

_  
_

_Jeremy Chadwick, Esq.,  
Blue Sky, Montana_

__

_Dearest Jeremy and Melanie:_

_So this is Texas. It is rather large, and quite dry. Despite the winters, I much prefer our North Country, and don’t expect that to change._

_We are staying at the McCreedy ranch. You will remember Heyes’ and Jed’s stories about the McCreedy-Armendariz feud? Well, apparently they deliberately left out the last bit, which is that there is a fairly recent Mrs. McCreedy, namely Carlotta Armendariz McCreedy, wife to one and sister to the other. She is delightful._

_McCreedy is a real character. I confess that neither he nor I have the slightest idea what to make of one another. I find him peering strangely at me, at odd moments, as though I am some sort of impossible creature. I suppose he finds the notion of Heyes’ marriage as improbable as everyone else finds his own. He adores Rachel, and she him, however. And I caught him with an old banjo the other day, playing with great skill, so perhaps there is more to him than just the blustering, wealthy rancher._

_I finally met Senor Armendariz last Saturday, as it was Senora McCreedy’s birthday celebration. He is a widower with snow-white hair, a slim figure and imperious bearing, and the possessor of an impressive mustache. I confess, were my heart not already given, I would be tempted to run off with him. He exudes confidence and power. There is a Spanish word, machismo, and he exemplifies the quality almost definitively, but tempered with a sly and wicked sense of humor._

_Heyes is recovering nicely, whether it is the warm weather or the congenial surroundings. He has begun to go for longer rides, usually with Jed but occasionally even on his own. He is playing cards, again, and spinning longer and more elaborate tales. Having come so close to losing him and having seen him come back to himself so satisfactorily, I am keenly aware of my great good fortune. That does not, of course, mean that I am not quietly furious at him for losing a good deal of money at poker last Saturday night. He is, of course, rather out of practice and I trust will recover his form shortly._

_Jed is increasingly despondent about the lack of any correspondence from Sandy or her father. But Albert Raintree had exacted a promise from him to let her be until she is ready to return. As his people remain your clients, and as you always know where to find us, Jed knows he must simply trust. It is hard on him, and I think being so far South, with so much distance between them, is all to the good._

_My love to your children, and to you both,_

_Ella_

_  
_

_Jeremy Chadwick, Esq.,  
Blue Sky, Montana_

__

_My dear Jeremy:_

_I’m addressing this to you alone, because some of the information deals with a case for which I am considering offering my services, and I’d appreciate it if you would take care about those portions of my news, when you share this letter with Melanie._

_There is a case going to trial soon in New Orleans which has me tossing and turning in my bed at night, with the injustice of it. It involves a young man, from up in the bayou country, of somewhat limited intellect, who was put in the indefensible position of protecting his family’s illegal interests. The popular press is calling for his blood, as he killed two officers of the law before being seriously wounded himself. But from what I have read, it is difficult to tell how much he understands of right and wrong, having been kept very sheltered by his family._

_I know I would be blundering in, not being knowledgeable with regards to the local culture. And Louisiana, of course, is a Napoleonic Code jurisdiction, meaning I am worse than ignorant of legal procedure there. Nevertheless, I have been in contact with his counsel and intend to offer my services, pro bono, for whatever they may be worth._

_The McCreedys are immensely generous hosts, but we have remained here far longer than we ought to have done. Rachel is an energetic child and they have enjoyed her company, I am certain, sufficiently. Gloria is a saint, by the way._

_Heyes is doing marvelously well. He has more than won back the money he lost playing cards in those early weeks, is a better storyteller than ever, and has regained his sense of mischief entirely. In the past week alone, he nearly convinced Jed that some old bones they found while out riding were those of an entirely new species of prehistoric animal (they were not); nearly convinced me that our daughter is a budding mathematical genius (she may well be, but has not actually evidenced it as yet); and absolutely convinced poor Pat McCreedy that they are, in fact, distantly related (they are not). Only Senora McCreedy remains sacrosanct – he wouldn’t dare pull anything on her, as she sees right through him._

_Jed is still immensely sad. There is some vague muttering, when he thinks I am not listening, about a girl he used to know who lives in New Orleans. It’s been the better part of a year with no word from Sandy, so what right do I have to insist on her claim to his heart? And yet I remain hopeful, perhaps because I cannot fathom losing her, myself._

_So to New Orleans we are going. Share whatever you think appropriate with Melanie, but no one else – the case is stirring great controversy. Love to your children and of course to Sven Rasmussen. He apparently made quite the impression on Gloria – she likes very, very tall men. And kind, quiet ones._

_Ella_

  


_Miss Caroline Fillmore_  
_Mount Holyoke College  
South Hadley, Massachusetts_

__

_Dearest Caroline:_

_We have arrived in New Orleans. Oh, I wish you were here – you would glory in the many languages spoken in the port – French, but in many varieties, Spanish, and of course English, but those are only the beginning._

_You could also help me communicate with my new client, who is semi-literate and speaks a dialect of Cajun French which is far outside my capabilities. I have found a marvelous interpreter, however, a young woman of color who understands many local dialects. And I am merely a consultant on the case, working with a local attorney, a young idealist who reminds me very much of Jeremy._

_Rachel sends tiny and ferocious hugs to her Caro. And Heyes and Jed hope you will wreak merry havoc on the educational system – while I caution you not to actually get yourself kicked out, as I suspect your various and extraordinary talents might be best used within said system._

_Love always from,_

_Ella_


	2. Arrival

They arrived in New Orleans via railroad. It was called the Star and Crescent Route, and had been in operation for only a few years. The moment they stepped off the train, they could tell they were in a city unlike any other place they’d ever been in.

It wasn’t that the crowds on the streets in San Francisco hadn’t spoken many languages, and been from all over the world. Of course they had. But in New Orleans, there was as much French heard on the streets as English, and various dialects, and the residents were as diverse as their speech. The buildings, too, were different than anything any of them had ever seen before, especially the ones in the French Quarter, with their wrought-iron balconies. Up in the Garden District, they were to discover, there were beautiful homes and mansions of more recent construction, but it was the Vieux Carré that drew them most.

“I feel like I’m in another country,” said Ella Heyes, as they made their way in a hired carriage to their hotel. “I’ve never actually been to another country, of course, except across the border to Canada, which looks remarkably like Montana. Look, Rachel, look at that!” She pointed out the window to the little girl she held on her lap, who was, however, more interested in the movements inside the carriage than in anything that might be going on outside its windows.

Hannibal Heyes nodded. “We’ve been to Mexico plenty of times, but somehow, this seems more foreign. Don’t you agree, Kid?”

“Huh?” said Jed Curry. His mind was clearly in another place entirely. “Oh. Yeah, it’s like no place I’ve ever been. Not even back East. Right, Ella?”

Heyes frowned, slightly. He never liked it when his partner rubbed it in his face that he’d been East, even to Philadelphia. Kid Curry shouldn’t have that one over on him, he thought. Not when he was supposed to be the clever one. Of course Ella’d been East, to Boston and New York, a couple of times, but she came from that kind of family. But the Kid . . . their paths had diverged for a few years, and Jed Curry had made the most of them, seeing a lot more of the country than his partner ever did, while Heyes was learning his trade as a bank robber.

Ella looked around, enchanted by what she saw. “Is this the Rue Royale? I think our hotel’s just . . . there we are,” she concluded, as the driver pulled up in front of a small building with a sign that said Hotel Monteleone. She handed the child to the carriage’s fourth passenger, a quiet, auburn-haired woman dressed in simple good taste, in a dark patterned calico. A stranger would never have supposed that when the others had first met the demure-looking woman, she’d been wearing the brightly colored satins, low-cut and bare-shouldered, of a saloon girl. “Thank you, Gloria.”

They checked in at their hotel’s front desk, and were shown to their rooms. The Heyes’ room adjoined the one where Rachel and Gloria were to stay, and Jed’s room was a bit further down the same hallway.

Having settled in, they made their way to a restaurant, across the road, where they sampled the local cuisine. Afterwards, the women excused themselves, Ella proclaiming exhaustion and Rachel clearly on the verge of an outbreak of crankiness.

Without even thinking about it, the Kid and Heyes walked until they found themselves in a drinking establishment a few blocks away.

“Wonder what kind of cards they play here, in New Orleans,” Heyes mused aloud.

“I wonder if Michelle’s singing in one of these places,” Curry responded. “Or if she’s married, with a couple babies, already.”

Heyes shrugged. “Dunno. We could ask around, I s’pose. If you’re certain you want to know.” He couldn’t blame the Kid for wanting to find happiness of his own, and Michelle Monet had been the one girl who’d made him really consider what he’d given up, while they were still on the run. When they’d parted ways, she’d been on her way home to New Orleans where, as far as they knew, she might well still be living. Ella was so certain that Sandy would be coming home to them, but he wondered – her situation had changed, even dramatically, several times in her life. Maybe she was happy now, up North with the Blackfeet. With her father. Maybe she felt safe, poor girl. Life hadn’t been kind to her, and not even Jed Curry had been able to keep her safe.

A few drinks, and some conversation with the locals, later, the pair headed out, towards their hotel on the Rue Royale.

Heyes slept soundly that night, and next morning awoke to find his wife dressed and bustling around the hotel room. She was moving at the slightly accelerated pace that was always the tell when she was nervous.

“Off already?”

“Meeting young Henri Goncourt at his office. He’s been practicing for exactly six months, but he was the only one willing to take the case.”

“’Cause the young man in question committed murder in the furtherance of a criminal enterprise, right?”

She shook her head. “There’s a good argument to be made it was self-defense. And Remy Leroux is a young man of subnormal intelligence, raised in an isolated environment . . . well, I could go on. I’m not saying he’s innocent, only that there are extenuating circumstances. But at the moment, there’s a general uproar and public sentiment says he should be hanged.”

Heyes smiled and shook his head. “And you hear ‘bout something that sounds wrong to you, and you just can’t help yourself.”

“Never could. Anyway, Louisiana’s a Napoleonic Code jurisdiction, so the law’s a bit different here. Mostly I’ll be interviewing potential witnesses, and helping Goncourt with strategy. He’s finding me an interpreter, since there are all kinds of dialects of English and French and things that are in between.”

“Thought you knew French?”

“I read it fluently. But as far as spoken French? I could understand a Parisian, if I’m really lucky and they’re feeling patient, possibly. Understand a Cajun shrimper from the bayou? Not so likely.”

She went over to the bed and leaned down to give him a quick kiss goodbye, and then with a “see ya this evening,” he rolled over, and adjusted the covers to his liking. Then he went back to sleep.

Later that morning, having breakfasted on beignets and chicory-laced coffee at the Café du Monde, Heyes and Curry took Rachel for a walk to give Gloria a little time to herself. 

“What a pretty little girl!” remarked more than one lady, most of them paying more attention to her handsome companions than to the child upon whose charms they were ostensibly remarking. A few mentioned Rachel’s remarkable resemblance to her father, which had been notable even in earliest infancy and was becoming more so as she grew, in her face as a whole and especially her dark eyes. Some of the women had the same singsong French accent as Michelle Monet, and Heyes couldn’t help but notice that the Kid was even more on the alert than usual.

“Kid, if she’s still performing, we’ll find her,” he promised. “Even if we have to drink, eat, and gamble our way through every restaurant, saloon, and casino in this whole crazy city.” He didn't look displeased with the idea.

“If it’s meant to be, I’ll run into her,” said the Kid. He was smiling, but there was something in his blue eyes that was distant, as though his mind were elsewhere. “But this is a romantic city – ain’t you gonna want to spend your evenings with Ella? She’s not so much the saloon or casino type.”

Heyes swallowed a laugh. “You know what it’s like when Ella’s on one of her crusades. Tonight, we’re all havin’ dinner at some well-known old restaurant she wants us to try, but . . . let’s just say I’m gonna have a lot of free time to fill. Kinda hope you don’t find Michelle, ‘cause then all I’ll have to keep me busy is playin’ cards and reading.” Rachel squirmed in his arms, and pointed suddenly at a passing dog, exclaiming at it. “And this little one, of course, but she’s not awake much in the evenings.”

They dropped Rachel off at the hotel, and continued to wander, exploring the colorful city in which they’d found themselves.

That evening, Ella arrived at the hotel with a young woman of color in tow. She was quietly dressed and wore a patterned scarf around her hair. “This is Marie-Elise. She’s going to be my interpreter. I’ve asked her to sit with Rachel tonight, so that Gloria can come out to dinner with us.”

Gloria shook her head. “Thanks kindly, Miss Ella, but I don’t think that I ought to . . .”

Rachel, however, had already made up her mind, and was walking with her still slightly-unsteady steps towards the newcomer. “Hi!” she said, cheerfully.

“Well, that’s settled, then.” Ella’s expression showed that she would brook no opposition, as Marie-Elise picked up the little girl in her arms. “We’re going to Antoine’s tonight, which is supposed to be one of the finest restaurants in town. And then Marie-Elise and I are headed up to the bayou for at least the next few days, to interview witnesses. I don’t want to risk taking Rachel out into swamp country, so come along and enjoy yourself while you can, Gloria, because I’m afraid I won’t be around to spell you for the rest of the week. You’ll have to rely on this pair of miscreants.”

“Reformed miscreants,” said Heyes, winking.

“Semi-reformed,” said his wife, pointedly. “You may not be outlaws anymore, but you’ll never be Sunday school teachers, either.”

They were in the midst of an excellent meal when Curry noticed a man at a neighboring table looking repeatedly at their table. “Could be trouble, Heyes,” he said under his breath.

“Nonsense,” said his partner, softly. “Just about every newspaper in the known world had an article about our amnesty. And it’s been over a year since the last time any overzealous illiterate bounty hunter came after us.”

“Don’t mean there ain’t still some folks out there with a grudge against us,” the Kid pointed out.

Heyes nodded, acknowledging that he had a point.

“I don’t think he’s looking at either of you,” said Gloria, who’d been quiet all night. In contrast to Ella, who’d changed from her workaday shirtwaist and dark skirt to a mauve silk dress of fashionable cut, Gloria was still wearing plaid cotton with a high neckline. She blanched, visibly, at the man who approached their table.

“Weeelllll,” he drawled. “If it ain’t Miss Gloria, all dressed like a schoolmarm, and eatin’ with respectable folk. Or _are_ they respectable? Is one of ‘em payin’ you for the pleasure of your company? Someone got a bit of a thing for teacher, maybe?”

Curry’s eyes turned steely, and his voice was hard. “Leave her alone.”

Heyes looked at him anxiously. He’d stopped wearing his gun in everyday circumstances, but his partner had continued. He looked at the visitor, to see if he seemed likely to continue the confrontation, and whether it might escalate into violence.

The man took an impulsive step towards Curry. “Yeah, and who are you to tell me what to do? You her john? I remember Gloria, back in the day, back in San Francisco. We had some times, me and her.”

“Whatever she might’ve done before, she’s left that life, now. You’d better back off and leave her alone.”

Gloria whispered to Ella, who sat to her right, “This is why I didn’t want come along. I was afraid something like this might happen.”

Heyes, who was keeping his eyes fixed on his partner, suddenly realized that Ella had risen from her seat and was speaking.

“You’ll leave her alone right now,” she said, in her best authoritative courtroom voice. “Around here, we believe that folks can change for the better. Gloria’s changed her ways, but it looks like you haven’t.”

“What, you, little lady?” said the man, though Ella was not far off his height. “You some kind of retired hoo-er, too? You ain’t quite so pretty as Gloria here, but you’re more’n all right. If she’s not available, I reckon you and me could--”

“Much worse,” she said, cutting him off with an unwavering stare. “I’m a retired lawyer. And these two,” with a nod of her head at Curry and Heyes, “they were _my_ clients. Think about what that might mean.”

The man just stared at her, and walked away.

“That wasn’t your smartest move ever, Ella,” Heyes pointed out. “Now he might guess who we really are. We might be right with the law, now, but challenging us is always gonna be a temptation for folks.”

“Speak loudly about land purchases,” she replied, as she resumed her seat. “He’ll think I was your property lawyer and recognize how foolish he’s been.”

Kid Curry smiled and shook his head, while Heyes showed his dimple and Gloria gave a shy laugh. They proceeded to make up outlandish tales about ranches and houses and even a small town they claimed to have purchased, until they’d reached a state of absurdity that none of them could continue any further and Heyes changed the subject.

After they’d taken a hired carriage back to the hotel, they dispersed to their various rooms. Once Heyes and Ella were alone, he said to her, “I always thought if someone was gonna get me killed for not backing down, it was gonna be the Kid. Now I’m thinking it might be you.”

“Nonsense,” said Ella. “I just can’t bear it when a man speaks like that to a lady who did what she had to in order to survive . . . .” She emphasized _lady_ as she spoke.

“You’ve certainly grown broad-minded, Ella. I can remember when you didn’t much approve of saloon gals. Remember in Colorado Springs, that time?”

She smiled, remembering. “Next time I see one with her breasts pressed up against you like that girl had, that night, I reserve my right to disapprove again. I got dizzy just looking at it, and _you_ were the one who’d been drinking. But that doesn’t change the fact that Gloria’s a good person. And that people can change – you’re proof of that.”

“So I’m not a semi-reformed miscreant, then?”

“Oh, you’re still that.”

“I think there’s one of the four of us that hasn’t changed a bit.”

“And doesn’t have the slightest intention of it, either.”

By this point, they’d both disrobed, he stripping down to his usual longjohns and henley, and she having changed to a pintucked and lace-trimmed nightdress. He lifted the covers and slid into bed. “You’re up early in the morning, I guess.”

“And away for the next three nights.” She looked at him. “I don’t like leaving Rachel, but they have . . . alligators and things. And fevers, it’s said. Out in the bayou country. I’m not taking her there.”

“She’ll be fine, here, between Gloria and the Kid and me. You know that. But as for me . . . “

“Without me, you can enjoy New Orleans as it’s meant to be enjoyed. Just try not to get arrested while I’m away.” 

He laughed. “I’ll do my best. Now come here and say goodbye like you’re really gonna miss me.”

Neither of them got much sleep that night, and neither minded in the slightest.


	3. Michelle, ma belle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Kid Curry met Michelle Monet, he had to let her go for her own sake. Now they have another chance -- but has he changed too much? Has she?

Several days of exploring New Orleans had led to minor winnings at cards for both of the former outlaws, as well as one morning with a surprisingly intense pair of hangovers.

“Guess we’re out of practice at some things,” said the Kid, when they’d finally bestirred themselves to go for breakfast.

“Apparently so,” said Heyes, signaling the waiter for yet more coffee. He was reading a telegram from Ella, saying she’d be a few more days in bayou country.

While Heyes elected to spend the afternoon back at the hotel, watching Rachel nap and reading a book by George Washington Cable, a writer who specialized in tales of Old New Orleans, Curry wandered off on his own. He wasn’t really looking for Michelle, he thought, he was just restless. And in a place like New Orleans, that involved less riding and more walking.

So it wasn’t entirely expected when he ran into her, on the afternoon of their third day in town. 

He was sitting at a sidewalk café, nursing a beer and reading a newspaper, when he heard a loud exclamation.

“Thaddeus, can it be? Is it really you?”

He looked up to see her standing there, an older woman at her side. “Michelle? Michelle Monet? I was wondering if I might run into you while we’re in town.”

“We’re? So you and Joshua are here? What a lovely surprise!” She indicated the woman. “This is my mother. _Mère, c’etait_ Thaddeus Jones.”

Madame Monet, an older, somewhat heavier version of her daughter, smiled warmly. She’d clearly been a beauty herself, in her day, and was still a very attractive older woman. Her accent was as thick as her daughter’s. “ _Bonjour_ , Monsieur Jones,” she said. “Please come and walk with _ma fille_ and I.”

With a quick nod to the waiter, Curry settled the bill, and the three of them promenaded down the street, and to a small park, where Madame Monet ostentatiously walked off to inspect the flowerbeds while Michelle and Jed sat on a bench together.

“I have thought of you often,” she said, giving him a sidelong glance. “Have you ever thought of me?”

“Well, Michelle, my life’s taken a few unexpected turns since we last met. But ever since we decided to come to New Orleans, I’ve been wondering if I might be lucky enough to run into you here.”

“So you still travel with Josh, then?”

“Joshua, and his wife and daughter. You’d like Rachel; she’s like H . . . like Joshua in miniature.”

Michelle laughed. “Joshua is married with a child? That seems impossible. I remember how he pursued Blanche, each of them having a devious motive. And now you tell me that he is a husband and father. But what about you? You were the one who I could see having such a future. And yet you are on your own, with them?”

“Well, now,” said the Kid. “That’s kind of a long story. First of all, you remember what you guessed, about us? Who you thought we really were?”

“That you were Kid Curry and Joshua was Hannibal Heyes?” Her eyes widened.

He nodded. “Well, you were right. And we were still looking over our shoulders, back then, when you and I met. But for the past few years, we’ve been straight with the law, and we’re not wanted anymore. You see, the Governor of Wyoming gave us an amnesty.”

“That’s wonderful news!” Her eyes lit up, but then shadowed. “I saw something about it in the papers. But surely that was several years ago. And you are only now coming to look for me? Was there someone else?”

“Well . . . yes. I met a girl I wanted to marry, but . . . something happened and she had to go away. And I don’t think that I’m ever going to see her again, and . . . here I am. See, Heyes’ wife had business here, and we all decided to come along, and well . . . I was hoping . . . wondering . . . if I might run into you.”

“And you ‘ave.” She took his arm. “I am singing tonight at the Blue Diamond Café. I ‘ope you and Joshua . . . Hannibal . . . and of course, his wife, will come and see me.”

“Heyes and I will absolutely be there,” he said, enthusiastically. “But Ella’s up in the bayou country on a case.”

Michelle wrinkled her nose, and the Kid laughed. “A . . . case? Why on earth would she make such an expedition on her own?”

Sometimes he forgot that what was once so strange to him was still strange to other folks. “Ella was our lawyer, up in Montana awhile back. Turns out, what it took to win Heyes’ heart was a woman as smart as she is pretty, and not just out for herself, like our old friend Blanche.”

“I ‘ave never ‘eard of such a thing, a lady lawyer, but,” Michelle shrugged. “As long as he is ‘appy. And,” she winked, “as long as he keeps her ‘appy. Best not to disappoint such a woman. There could be . . . consequences.”

The Kid laughed. He’d often teased Heyes about what Ella might do to her husband, with her inside knowledge of the law, if he aggravated her too much. And certainly Heyes could be aggravating.

That evening, Jed and Heyes dressed in their best. They intended to arrive early at the Blue Diamond, but Gloria knocked on the adjoining door as Heyes was getting ready to leave. She said that Rachel was particularly clingy, and babbling on about her parents. Apologizing to the Kid, he spent some time telling his little daughter a story about a pair of outlaw bears, who lived in the wilderness on stolen honey, until she grew drowsy.

By the time they arrived, the café was packed, and the only table available was towards the back of the room. Michelle was already performing. Her voice was sweet, but soft, and the audience seemed as interested in looking as in listening. Her dress was flashier than anything Curry had seen her wearing before, with an open neckline and some faceted stones sewn around the bodice. It suited her well.

At the end of her set, they made their way towards the stage, but discovered they weren’t the only ones waiting for her. Instead, three or four other admirers, all of them carrying flowers, were waiting to speak with Michelle.

One of them, who hung back a little, whispered to Heyes. “So we’ll see who the lucky man is, for the evening.”

Heyes frowned. “She invited my friend specially. We knew her back a couple of years ago.”

“Well, then,” he said. “Wish I’d known that. I’ll come back another night. Should get home to the wife, anyway. Likely to be hell to pay, but seeing Miss Monet perform – it’s worth it.”

Not for the first time, Heyes thought how complicated other people’s lives could be, and how happy he was to have found a woman who’d held his interest in the long term. Even if she did do disconcerting things like leave their child with the nanny and run off to the swampland with only an interpreter to keep her safe.

Or maybe that was why.

“You’re not saying . . . Miss Monet isn’t . . .”

The man shook his head. “All she’ll let a man do is buy her dinner, after. Never heard of it going any farther. But we all live in hope.”

“Thaddeus!” said Michelle, delightedly. “I’m so ‘appy to see you. Will you take me to supper? You and Joshua?”

“Oh, Joshua’s got to get home and tell his little girl some bedtime stories, don’t you, Joshua?”

Heyes found himself looking around, wondering who’d been referred to. He’d almost forgotten, for a moment, that he was Joshua. “Oh, yes,” he said. “The outlaw bears of the Rockies. You two run along and enjoy yourselves.”

###

The next morning, there was a rap on Heyes’ door, neither very early nor very late. It was Jed, of course, and he looked very well pleased with himself. “Well, guess who’s takin’ Michelle Monet out to dinner again, tonight.”

“Well, it ain’t gonna be me, since I didn’t take her out last night, so I’m guessin’ that means you,” Heyes said, sensibly.

The Kid just laughed, and Heyes thought that he looked happy for the first time in a very long while.

For most of the next week, Jed Curry spent as much time with Michelle as her performing schedule allowed. But he never saw her without her ever-present chaperone, Madame Monet. He enjoyed their chats, and even more so, the stolen moments when he kissed her after her mother discreetly withdrew. But such things were never allowed to go very far; as soon as he began to lose himself in the moment, the older woman just as discreetly reappeared.

Heyes, meanwhile, joined the Kid for some, but not all of the performances, though he left immediately afterwards to go play cards. The rest of the time, he divided his time between amusing, or being amused by, Rachel during the daytimes, and playing poker in the evenings. He felt a small tug of uneasiness, not having heard from Ella, but she’d told him that would probably be the case, up in the bayou like that. He spun stories for Rachel about her mother putting alligators on trial for their bad behavior, and always winning. Rachel approved.

New Orleans was filled with places of amusement and dens of vice, so of course gambling was commonplace. Heyes got into a couple of good games at one particular establishment, winning mostly but losing rather spectacularly one night towards the end of the week, to a gentleman from St. Louis. Fortunately, as he’d been winning rather steadily all week, he was able to absorb the loss without having to worry about informing his wife.

The next morning, the Kid rapped on his door, to see if he wanted to go for breakfast. “Apparently card-playing is more all-consuming than courtship,” Curry said smugly, when Heyes answered the door in his longjohns, clearly having just been awakened.

“Courtship,” his partner said, blearily. “Is that what it is? Are you working up to the big ask?”

Curry considered. “You know, Heyes, I’m not sure.”

“This gonna be a long one?” asked Heyes. “Let’s sit down, then.” And having settled himself on the edge of the bed, leaving the room’s one armchair to the Kid, he continued. “I knew there was somethin’ between you, back down in Mexico that time. But you’ve been through so much since—probably she has too. Does it feel the same? Does it feel right, after . . . you know.”

Kid Curry gave him a haunted look. “I’m not sure, Heyes. She’s not.” He paused, looked around the room, anywhere but his partner’s eyes. “You know what she’s not. Who she’s not. I think she’s a little, well, there’s something missing.”

Heyes reflected that it had to be a first, Kid Curry worrying about a girl as pretty and charming as Michelle lacking in substance. But then, Sandy had been the first girl he’d been really serious about at a time when he could have acted on it. And there was more to Sandy than just her looks and her sweet nature. Things were different now.

“I’m gonna feel things out tonight. Paint a picture that’s a little on the spare side, moneywise, and see if she’s still interested.”

“Not a bad idea, Kid.” Back down in San Juan, it had been Blanche, the woman Heyes was romancing with ulterior motives, who’d been out for money. Michelle had been broke, herself, and sincere and just a little bit naïve. But people change. Heyes thought back to that time. He’d met Ella a few months before that trip to San Juan, but considering the circumstances of his life back then, he hadn’t thought it was likely he’d ever see her again. Blanche was beautiful, which made the job a lot more pleasant. Afterwards, though, he’d felt surprisingly uneasy about the whole thing, and that had been completely new to his experience. It had made him wonder if he might be developing an uncomfortable set of morals, as he aimed to live an honest life. Or if, having met a lady that meant something to him, he’d just discovered a whole new set of complications.

Kid Curry was nodding. “She’s pretty as ever, and so happy to be with me. There’s just something that ain’t quite right. I’m hopin’ if I spend some more time with her, it’ll all come clear.”

That evening, he went to her dressing room after the performance, as had become his habit. He had a bouquet of flowers in his hand, also as usual. But instead of letting him in, when Madame Monet opened the door, she stepped out into the hallway.

“I’m afraid _ma fille_ is otherwise occupied, this evening. Another old friend, you see, turned up in town.”

The Kid handed her the flowers, then turned away. Who knew? Could be someone important for her career, could be a whole lot of different things. But the one thing he couldn’t imagine was that it wasn’t someone in romantic pursuit of Michelle.

He found Heyes at the Chesterfield Club, in the midst of a card game. One look at his friend, and he knew he wasn’t going to be interrupting him to talk about something so trivial as love, happiness, or marriage. Not when there was serious poker to be played. He reflected that Michelle’s surprise that “Joshua” had a wife and child wasn’t so far off, really. He had a few drinks, realized he was thoroughly bored, and left without ever even speaking to his partner, headed back to the hotel and an early night.

###

The next day, it was Heyes banging on the Kid’s hotel room door, surprisingly early considering where he’d been the night before. Although, when Curry opened the door to his partner, it was obvious that for Heyes, it was more late than early.

“Kid, it was classic,” he said, making himself at home by settling in the room’s one armchair, though he hadn’t been invited in. “That fella from St. Louis was there again, Timothy McFarland. The one who cleaned me out a few nights ago? And this time, I ran rings around him. You will not believe how much I won!”

“Well, that’s great, Heyes, but have you slept at all?”

The other man shook his head. “’Course not. We only finished up an hour or so ago, and I had to have a few drinks to celebrate, after all.” He pulled a telegram out of his pocket. “Got back to the hotel, only to discover that Ella’s finally wired and she’s coming home later today. So I’d better get some sleep now. Won’t do to look too rough when she gets home, or she’ll think I’ve been sampling all the joys of New Orleans.”

“Heyes, didn’t she tell you to do just that?”

Heyes laughed. “’Cept for one thing, of course? Actually, she did. But I’d like her to think I can behave myself when she’s not around to keep an eye on me.”

“Even though that ain’t precisely true?”

“Kid, it’s New Orleans, after all.” He smiled that infectuous smile and stood to go. “I won’t be joining you for breakfast, but make sure to get me by lunchtime.”

“All right, Heyes.” The Kid just shook his head. Heyes might have changed in some ways, but in others, he never would.

###

Ella arrived back in town in time to join them for dinner, which she did, and was full of stories of the bayou, its landscape and its inhabitants. Rachel clung to her mother all throughout the meal, Ella absently stroking the small girl’s fine dark hair. “Trial’s day after tomorrow,” she said. “Afraid I’ll be spending most of my waking hours either in court or at Goncourt’s office ‘til the thing’s over. Marie-Elise and I were thinking that Gloria could bring Rachel along to his office tomorrow – the three of us could take turns amusing her. I don’t want to have to leave my little girl the minute I’ve gotten home to her.”

Heyes shot her a look. “Because, of course, she’s the only one who missed you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure you haven’t found a single thing in New Orleans to amuse yourself with.”

Curry could see Heyes visibly restraining himself from saying what he might have said. Instead he settled for a slightly sarcastic, “Can I assume that your daughter and I will have the honor of your company this evening? Or would you rather I found other ways of amusing myself tonight, too?”

“Tonight,” she said, “I am all yours. Well, yours and Rachel’s.”

In the end, the Kid went off on his own to see Michelle sing, and Heyes found himself stretched out on his hotel room bed, with his wife and daughter on either side of him, as he read his daughter’s copy of _Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland_ aloud to them. He wasn’t entirely certain Rachel understood what was going on, but she loved hearing her father’s deep voice. Ella laughed at all the funny bits – sometimes even when Heyes wasn’t quite so sure what was all that funny. She, having read more novels from England than he had, sometimes explained things like bathing machines (Heyes was surprised to learn those were real and not made up by the author, as they were as absurd as anything else in Wonderland) and how queens weren’t generally quite so short-tempered as her Majesty of Hearts.

First Rachel, and then Ella, dropped off to sleep. When Gloria opened the connecting door in order to collect her charge, Heyes shook his head. She nodded and withdrew, closing the door behind her. He read a little further, silently, strangely captivated by this book written for children but with such wit and eccentric charm, and without realizing, drifted off to sleep as well.

In the morning, Rachel woke her parents much earlier than either of them would have liked. Ella looked at the mantel clock and determinedly closed her eyes again, while Rachel snuggled up against her father, asking surprisingly perceptive questions about why the Hatter was mad, and if Alice ever got home again. And if the bayou, to which her mother had just been, was anything like Wonderland. Heyes found that his silver tongue wasn’t always adequate to answering an eager and insistent young child. But he spun a story about a talking alligator and its snake rival which had Rachel giggling, and eventually he noticed that someone else was laughing, quietly, as well.

###

That next night, Jed Curry insisted that Ella come home in time to accompany himself and Heyes to see Michelle perform, hoping to get her impressions as he himself struggled with his feelings. Ella was polite, but declined the opportunity to join the singer for dinner afterwards.

Heyes muttered to his partner, “She just ain’t ready, yet, Kid. She’s not ready to give up her fantasy of you and Sandy and half-a-dozen little ones. Give her time.”

As Heyes and his wife made their way home, though, it was Michelle’s performance that was discussed, and nothing else. “I just . . . I don’t know, it felt . . . trivial?” For once Ella had difficulty finding the words. “Some ballads, a few music hall songs, and not much vocal range. If she weren’t so very pretty, who’d care?”

“Sounds like someone’s a little . . .”

“Jealous? No. Of course, in my field, being pretty was more of a problem than a help,” she winked at him, “but, then, you’re the only one who’s ever met me outside the courthouse with a bunch of flowers and an invitation to dinner.” She reflected for a moment. “Come to think of it, that’s not exactly true . . . .” 

Over the course of the following week, Ella spent most of her time in court, coming home late and exhausted. Curry continued his pursuit of Michelle, day and evening both, though after her mother’s rebuff that one night, he was beginning to have doubts. He tried to shake them off, remembering how special she made him feel when they were together. And Heyes continued to divide his time between amusing his young daughter and playing poker, focusing now on daytime games so that he could be home to hold Ella in his arms at night. She was too tired even to talk, to explain the course of each day, and he, likewise, was uncharacteristically quiet, other than some talk of Rachel. It wasn’t as though she’d understand anything about the games he’d played, anyway. Or care, as long as he didn’t lose too much.

It continued that way until everything fell apart.


	4. Unhappy Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kid Curry has to make a decision about Michelle, and a jury has to make a decision about Ella's client.

Jed was strolling with Michelle in the public gardens that afternoon, her mother not present for once. It was time, he thought. Time to decide, is this just a pleasant distraction, or was Michelle Monet going to mean something more in his life? He’d always been in favor of pleasant distractions, until he’d met . . . well, no point in thinking about that.

“So,” he began, “looks like this trial is windin’ up soon, and I don’t think we’ll be stayin’ around very much after. Guess you and me should have a talk.”

Michelle looked at him, smiling flirtatiously. “Wouldn’t you like to stay in New Orleans? Isn’t it lovely here?”

“Somethin’ in it is lovely, that’s for sure.” He looked at her, then quickly looked away. “But this isn’t really my kinda town. Too boxed in. I felt the same way when we lived in San Francisco. I’m more of a wide open sky kinda fellow.”

Her face fell. “But, Thaddeus, this town is where I live. Where I sing. If you were to offer to take me to San Francisco, I would say yes, in a moment. But I cannot go live in the countryside somewhere. Can’t you stay? For me?”

He shook his head. “Heyes’d never go for it. And Ella said something about Napoleon and codes and the law bein’ different around here, so it sounds like this ain’t the place for her either.”

“But that is them. This is us. Surely you and . . . Joshua, Heyes, whatever he is called . . . surely you would not put him before me? He has a wife. He doesn’t need you. I do.”

Curry’s handsome face took on that stubborn look he sometimes got. “Heyes and me, we stick together. Always. His wife understands that. She never expected anything different. And Sa . . .” he caught himself, but not soon enough.

Michelle shook her lovely head. “This mysterious woman who broke your heart. Who will always mean more to you than I can.”

“No, Michelle. I didn’t mean . . . she’s the past. You could be the future. If you wanted to be. If we want the same things. What do you think, Michelle? Honestly?”

“I think that I love to be a singer, and I’m not ready to give that up. If I had a husband who understood that . . .”

“Could be possible . . .” Certainly Heyes seemed perfectly happy that Ella had her own occupations. Happier, probably, since her independence matched his own. But was that what he wanted for himself?

“Here?”

“Why does it have to be here?”

“Do you see me as some frontier wife, baking my own bread and sewing my own clothes?”

At that, Jed Curry was taken aback. He’d never thought of it that way – always thought he’d be able to keep a woman in style, should he ever choose to marry. But also that he’d never really worked it through. He liked the idea of the beautiful singer, object of many men’s desire, who’d chosen him. But he’d also imagined a little home in the country, with a wife who was happy in a place like that.

Unbidden, the image of another dark-haired beauty rose before him, the one he’d been trying to forget. The one who was never coming back.

Sandy’s cooking was something a man could happily come home to for the rest of his life, but she was also the first one to leave the lights of town or city behind, to get on a horse and ride for hours. To clamber up the mountainsides, surefooted and brave in situations which left even him uncertain at times. To glory in the night sky, and name all the stars.

When you‘d met, when you’d loved, a woman like that . . . well. A pretty, spoiled singer, good-natured but determined to have things her own way. So unaware of who the man she wanted really was. 

Michelle Monet, pretty as a picture and desired by many, and willing to give herself to him. To marry him, if he wanted. 

And he wanted her, he did. But only because she was so lovely, only because he hadn’t had a woman in what felt like a very long time, because he hadn’t even wanted to touch a woman who wasn’t his beautiful, wonderful Alexandra. The woman he’d been willing to wait for until she was truly his, giving her the time that she needed, after her first, abusive marriage.

Which was very, very unlike him, who’d always had a hearty appetite for the pleasures of the flesh. With a start, he realized that he wanted Michelle, but he didn’t love her. Would never love her. And that, since their rekindled romance had been under color of courtship, with full approval of her watchful mama, he needed to end things now, because he couldn’t marry her. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them.

He wasn’t quite sure how he got through it. He’d always made a point of not leading on the women who could have touched his heart, if only he hadn’t been the notorious Kid Curry. Always let them know he wouldn’t take more than they freely gave, and never lied to them about the future. A kiss, an embrace, no more than was right unless the woman herself knew and understood there could be nothing more between them than a night or two of bliss. He could always find his pleasures elsewhere, among those who made it their business.

And so, gently, seriously, he let Michelle know that perhaps they didn’t have the same goals for their lives. That they had no future together. A quick tear in her eye and a toss of the head, and she was gone.

Mostly, he felt relief, but also a little sadness. If he’d been in a position to offer Michelle something more, on that journey back from San Juan, perhaps . . . perhaps she wouldn’t have become the darling of the stage, perhaps she might have remained unspoiled, perhaps she would have been the woman he’d hoped she’d be. The woman she’d honestly probably never been.

That evening, as he and Heyes sat over their whiskey, it became clear to him what he needed to do. His heart belonged to Sandy, and probably would for the foreseeable future. But Jed Curry needed, bluntly, to get laid.

Sending Heyes back to the hotel, to his family, Kid Curry put on his hat, and went to find Antoinette’s, a brothel of which he had heard in hushed, almost reverent whispers, since he’d arrived in New Orleans.

_What transpired at Antoinette’s is the subject of “Solace”, posted next in this series._

###

The next morning, when he joined the others for breakfast, he felt more relaxed than he had in a very long while. Heyes seemed in the mood to tease him about his previous night’s expedition, and Ella seemed a bit distant. He wondered what Heyes had told her, what she’d guessed. He knew she was as devastated about Sandy as he was, but she couldn’t expect him to spend the rest of his life in mourning for something that never quite happened.

Like she had, he reflected. She’d spent nearly ten years of her life in mourning for Billy, the fiancé who’d died shortly before their wedding was to be. She might have stayed that way forever, except that Hannibal Heyes, thief that he was, had found a way past her defenses and right into her heart.

Well, he was damned if he was gonna do the same as Ella had. Courting Michelle, spending the night in a whore’s bed, whatever it took until his heart was whole again. He was not gonna be the Widower like she’d been the Widow of Blue Sky.

Of course, when she spoke, it was about another matter entirely, and he realized she probably hadn’t even registered Heyes’ teasing or his own semi-guilty looks. “Things aren’t looking good for our client,” she said, glumly. “I expect we’ll know, today.”

###

That night, when Ella returned to the hotel, she was so exhausted she could barely speak, and couldn’t even eat.

Marie-Elise, the interpreter, had accompanied her home, and seemed worried. She looked at Heyes, and shook her head. “Our friend Goncourt put on a brilliant defense, but it was not enough. All of our work was not enough. Remy Leroux will hang on Friday.”

“I knew it was inevitable,” said Ella, shaking her head, “but I couldn’t help hoping.”

Marie-Elise smiled sadly. “You are lucky to come from a place where there is hope. For some of us, there is only endurance. And principle.”

The interpreter took her leave, shortly, and Heyes took his wife by the hand, and led her back to their room, where they locked the door and made love for a night and a day, Ella desperate to lose herself in the physical sensation. Later that afternoon, hair still damp from bathing after their exertions, she apologetically relieved Gloria from duty over Rachel, and held her small daughter close to her.

On the day of the execution, Ella, along with Marie-Elise and Goncourt, were in attendance, providing Remy Leroux with the comfort of caring faces. Heyes, thinking of how easily he and the Kid might have suffered the same fate, insisted on attending with her.

Again that night, they attempted to forget in each other’s arms. But the next evening, and for several evenings thereafter, Marie-Elise showed up after dinner and spirited her away, and she didn’t return until the next morning. “She’s taken me to hear local musicians, colored musicians playing music of their own invention. They play late, at Marie-Elise’s brother’s home, after their paying performances are done, and it’s . . . it’s glorious.” Later in life, she finally heard it again, and was able to identify it – the origins of what came to be known as ragtime and jazz.

_How Heyes helped Ella forget, for a little while, both before and after Remy’s execution, is the subject of “Refuge,” a more explicit story. It’s posted immediately after “Solace” in the series, so two stories along._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As my notes in the text say, there are two stories which follow which are expand on both the Kid's experience at Antoinette's, and Heyes's in consoling Ella. In addition to the sex scenes, "Solace" and "Refuge" also explore the characters' thoughts about what's happened in this chapter in considerably more depth. I'd posted the Kid story "Solace" sometime previous to this one, as a present for a friend. As it seemed to stand well on its own, rather than folding it into the longer narrative, I decided to keep it as it was, and do the same for Heyes and Ella.


	5. A Turn of the Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As his time in New Orleans draws to its close, Heyes wins big at the card table -- but at what cost?

All the while, Hannibal Heyes had continued his winning streak at poker, steady but not so much as to make him unwelcome in the several venues he’d come to enjoy. With his courtship of Michelle ended, the Kid began to accompany Heyes, though he was listless and rarely played more than a few hands himself.

There was a particular saloon several streets away from the hotel that had low-key, high-stakes games going seemingly around the clock, and Heyes had been gravitating there, more and more. Their visit to New Orleans was drawing near to its end, and he was conscious that he might not find this kind of quality poker, where he was actually challenged, in the next place they ended up.

At least that was what he told himself. But also, the more time he spent away from the hotel, the less he had to face the inevitable conversation with his wife about where they would go next. The Kid was easy about such things; his home had always been where Heyes was, and they’d been rootless more often than not. But Ella needed to live somewhere, to be reunited with her books and her furniture, and to be given the chance to find something to occupy herself with, whether it was practicing law or something else altogether. Most important of all, Rachel needed a childhood home.

The one place which was utterly impossible, unfortunately, was Blue Sky, Montana. The place where they still owned a house, where Ella’s former law partner would be overjoyed to welcome her back, where she’d been happy. Where he’d been happy, except for that not inconsiderable matter of finding a future for himself in a very small town. But the Blackfoot lands were a matter of some hours away on horseback, and members of the Blackfoot Confederacy consulted their counsel Jeremy Chadwick, of the law firm still known as Chadwick & Heyes, not infrequently. To be so close to Sandy and yet unable to see her, well, that was more than Jed Curry could be expected to endure.

And so Heyes threw himself into these games of chance, challenging enough, exciting enough, and most of all, absorbing enough, to take his mind off the problem of what came next. Mac’s place in Red Rock had been a stopgap, a place for him to heal in body and mind. But returning for more than a brief visit, to retrieve the trunks they’d left behind, was not a reasonable option. They needed to be something other than guests.

They needed to belong someplace.

But meantime, he needed to distract himself, while he was thinking things through. Even if that meant evading Ella. To be fair, with her late-night musical expeditions (chaperoned by Marie-Elise, with her brother or her fiancé accompanying them), and her almost feverish determination to make up for lost time with Rachel during the days, Ella was easy to evade at the moment.

The night of the game that changed everything, Heyes was sitting at what had become his customary table, when in walked his new rival, Timothy McFarland of St. Louis, Missouri.

“Room at this table for a new player?” McFarland asked, somewhat brusquely. He was a man in his middle years, strongly built. His hair was nearly black, and his beard closely trimmed, and he had startlingly bright blue eyes.

Heyes took one look at him. “For you, always.” He looked around, and the other players nodded their assent, one by one. The twice they’d played so far had been epic – McFarland triumphing the first time, but only after a long and drawn out battle which satisfied both, and Heyes doing likewise the second time.

McFarland took his seat.

The next eight hours went by both more quickly and more slowly than any other in Heyes’ life. The other players dropped out, or stayed merely to make small, sacrificial bets simply to watch a match between Titans. Heyes’ pile of chips grew taller, then shifted over to McFarland, then back again. They were equally well-matched with bluffing, with luck, and with that almost instinctive mathematical calculation known as counting cards.

Kid Curry had long since ceased playing, but sat nearby, his back to the wall and his ever-wary eyes on the table. His partner appeared nonchalant, but Jed knew the marks of Heyes’ intense concentration, and he was clearly in another realm, where nothing but the game was real.

Hand after hand, they jousted, back and forth the piles continued to go.

Finally, when the pile had shifted back to Heyes for one final time, and when both men were clearly getting tired, McFarland shrugged. “Well, this has been entertaining. But my business interests are calling, and I’ve got to get some sleep before I get the train out this afternoon.”

Heyes went to pull the pot towards himself, when McFarland raised a hand.

“How about one last hand? Winner takes all.”

Curry tensed. This could lead to something bad.

“Well,” said Heyes. “Seems like you’d need to throw in something awfully sweet, for me to want to risk that.”

McFarland smiled, and drew an envelope from an inside breast pocket. “Only a real gambler will appreciate this. I won it when I was in Colorado, not six months ago. It’s either worth a fortune, or it’s not. Silver mine located about an hour outside of Denver. The former owner thought it was played out, but I had a mining engineer check it out, and he wasn’t so sure.”

Heyes looked so nonchalant that Curry wanted to slug him one and drag him out of there, before all his winnings went up in smoke. But he was not remotely surprised when Heyes said, “Why not?”

Another hand, and Heyes was victorious.

McFarland shrugged. “You can use the money to see if it’s worth getting it up and running. Honestly? I have bigger fish to fry.” He turned, and was gone.

“That was too easy,” muttered Curry to his partner. He couldn’t help but wonder what McFarland had just landed them with.

“I did some digging on him, after our first big showdown, the one where he took me for quite a lot. He’s a rich man, has his finger in too many pies as it is. My guess is that he’s just as glad to get this one out of his portfolio.”

“Maybe so,” said the Kid. “And maybe you’ve just bought us a whole new bunch of trouble.” But he felt too much relief to grumble much, at least for the moment.

It was broad daylight when they arrived back at the hotel. Heyes let himself into his room, and Ella wasn’t there, so he ordered a bath to be brought up.

He’d bathed and dressed, and was just beginning to wonder whether he should go in search of her in the park nearby, when he heard the door to Gloria and Rachel’s room next door. There was some muffled conversation, and then the adjoining door opened and closed again.

“Well,” his wife said, once she was on the other side of the doorway, “just look what the cat dragged in.” She didn’t look angry, just amused.

“Yeah, well. I had a good night at cards. A really good night.” With a flourish he produced the deed, and handed it to her.

“Heyes,” she said, with an incredulous expression on her face, “you won . . . a mine? How does a person even gamble a mine, in the first place? I mean . . . how . . . that’s . . . .” Ella had never in her life been rendered speechless, but right at this moment, she was close.

“I guess he’s got more money than sense. He was a good poker player, though. Gave me a real run for it. Rich fellow from St. Louis.”

She nodded, tentatively, clearly trying to absorb the information. “But the mine’s in Colorado?"

“He said it’s an hour’s ride outside of Denver. Not sure whether it’s currently viable or not, but I won enough money besides that we can hire a mining engineer to tell us.”

“So we’re off to Colorado, then?” She sounded tense. “Just like that.”

He sighed. “Well, where the hell else are we gonna go? Can’t go north, that’s not fair to the Kid, not anyplace near Blackfoot territory. Can’t go back to San Francisco, likewise, ‘cause it rubs his wounds raw. You weren’t much fond of Texas, and I think we’re all agreed that New Orleans isn’t going to be our home.”

She considered for a moment. “I suppose Colorado’s as good as anywhere.” But her expression remained blank.

He frowned a little. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d been expecting from her, but this reaction wasn’t it. This silver mine could be the making of them. “Do you understand just how big I won? What this could mean for us if, like I suspect, he gave up too easily because he just didn’t care that much? This is a wealthy man with too many business interests already. His leavings could set us up for life.”

But her bearing was oddly stiff, and she sighed. “I wonder what you put in the pot that caused him to toss in the deed to a mine, played-out or not.”

The broad smile disappeared from his face, as his dimple disappeared and his dark eyes lost their sparkle. “That’s all you have to say?”

“I should have thought it was obvious, now that you are a father, that taking risks on that scale is not . . . .” She trailed off.

“I’ve been playing cards the whole time we’ve been here--high stakes--and you haven’t minded. You haven’t even been paying attention.”

She drew up short. “Just a little matter of a man’s life and death. Sorry if you’ve been bored. Sorry if I haven’t been cheering you on as you wager enough for us to live on for the next decade. I knew you were gambling, but I never realized it was on this scale.”

“You don’t trust me,” he said, quietly, coldly.

“I don’t know if I can,” she shot back at him.

Instead of responding, he grabbed his hat and jacket. The door slammed behind him.

Ella sat down, her stomach in knots. What on earth had he been thinking? She’d always known her husband was a risk-taker, that back in his outlaw days, he’d thrown money about like it was nothing, because there was always more where that came from. But that was then, before they’d ever met.

When she first knew him, when he’d put all of that behind him and was constantly on the move, she wouldn’t hear from him for long periods of time, as often as not because he didn’t have the price of a telegram. Even after they’d married, when he and the Kid periodically wandered away from home in search of work, in search of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, she’d trusted him, knowing he’d always come back to her. Always come home, whether his risks had paid off or not; whether he came home and handed her a nice sum to put in the bank, or whether he came home tired and dusty and hungry, with nothing to show for his adventures. Usually the latter, and she had never cared in the slightest.

The money hadn’t mattered to her; why would it? She’d had her own earnings from her law practice. And her father, though she’d sworn again and again that she’d never marry after losing Billy, had set the house and the office and some other properties in Blue Sky up in a trust long before she met Heyes, so that what was hers would always remain hers. Hers, not a husband’s, as the law would otherwise have had it. But now that she was adrift, with no work and no home except that empty house up north, she felt vulnerable in ways that she never had before. The way most women must feel all the time, she reflected, depending on a man.

She didn’t like it one bit.

And she was so tired. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw Remy Leroux’s face, just before they’d hooded him for execution. For a few days, Heyes had been her refuge, but then he’d turned away from her. She thought she knew why, and she wouldn’t admit that it stung her, but it did. He was working things through, and he wasn’t discussing it with her. She’d somehow become “the wife” to him, rather than simply Ella. His responsibility, not his equal.

When she had collected her thoughts sufficiently, she went next door, and without a word to Gloria, held out her arms to receive her daughter. She held Rachel close to her for awhile, stroking the little girl’s dark hair. Half-asleep, Rachel was quiet for once, and just clung to her mother, contented.

Eventually, Ella returned to her own empty room. It was still afternoon, but she suspected Heyes wouldn’t be back for awhile. She stretched out on the bed and attempted to read a favorite book, with varying success. _Our Mutual Friend_ was Dickens’ last completed novel, and it admitted to more moral ambiguity than his other works; right now that felt uncomfortably close to home. Both Gloria and Curry knocked on her door, at different times, to see if she wanted to go down to the dining room, but she refused both of them.

It was past midnight when Heyes came in, finally. She’d drifted off to sleep, and dreamed of chasing Remy through the bayou, pleading with him to let her help, as he eluded her. She found herself in water up to her neck and then was out again, her shoes and dress dry, but her hair down and streaming wet. The strange cypress trees surrounded her, with their beards of Spanish moss. The alligators, the ones from the stories Heyes had told their daughter, were going to put her on trial this time. And then Heyes was there in her dream, though she couldn’t quite tell if he was conspiring with the alligators, or using his silver tongue to charm them into letting her go.

She gradually realized that he was, in fact, in the room, looking at her curiously. She’d undressed for bed, but was lying on top of the covers with her book fallen to one side and the gaslight still burning.

He’d been drinking, as she’d expected, asserting his independence by behaving as he would have done before she came into his life. One of his favorite tricks when they were fighting was to emphasize his drunken state by singing off-key, hoping to provoke her into uncomfortable self-righteousness. She couldn’t bear to think of herself as that nagging little missus, so usually she took the opposite road, became the Snow Queen. They’d nearly lost each other, that way, back in San Francisco.

Tonight, though, he simply, quietly, went over to the bed, weaving slightly, and sat down. He tossed his hat off, then pulled off his boots. Then he turned and looked at her, squinting just a little.

“I thought you trusted me, Ella.” His speech was slightly slurred, but his tone was even.

“I . . . I do,” she replied. “Just . . . so much money. You took such a chance, and we could have ended up without a dime to our names.”

He looked at her, and laughed a bit harshly. “All these years, and you think I’m that stupid?”

“I never said stupid. Impetuous, maybe? Overconfident, perhaps? You do have a firm belief in yourself, but from what I’ve heard about poker, it _is_ a game of chance, after all.”

“Not the way I play, it ain’t.” While he spoke, he began to undress, pulling off his jacket and vest. “Not usually. And when it is . . . .” he trailed off, looking at her curiously. “When it is, when there’s actually someone good enough to challenge me, it’s like the old days.”

“Risky and dangerous?”

“Well, yeah. Exciting. It gets my heart pounding, and I feel like I’m using everything I’ve got. Back before we met, my whole life was a gamble, almost every day. Risking everything, at the card table or holding up a train. The excitement that we’d brought another one off. There’s just nothing like it.”

“But in the old days, you could afford to lose everything.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “Do you feel like we’re holding you back, Rachel and me? Do you regret tying yourself down to a wife and a child?”

He shook his head. “No, Ella. No. There was a time I didn’t think I’d make old bones. But me and the Kid goin’ straight, then meeting you, well. I’ve got something now that I see goin’ on for a long, long time. That I want, more’n anything.”

“But you were willing to risk everything we have? On something that might not be worth anything at all?”

He snorted with frustration, and for a moment, she could see the outlaw he’d been in his eyes. “Dammit, Ella! If I’d wanted a nagging wife, I’d’ve at least found one who could cook. Our deal’s always been that we don’t try to change or control each other, remember?” He quirked a smile. “Yeah, I risked a lot of money – but it’s all money I won, in those high stakes games back at Mac’s. And all the cards I’ve been playing here, while you’ve been busy with the trial.”

Her eyes widened. “You won that much? Enough to stake against a silver mine?”

“Played-out silver mine, supposedly. But yeah. This is New Orleans, after all. I staked that much, but nothing that’s in the bank back in San Francisco’s been touched.” The smile grew wider. “I know you don’t understand cards, but we’ve talked about reading people – how what you do in the courtroom, I do around the poker table. And I’m pretty good at keeping track at which cards have been played, and which haven’t. The numbers, the patterns. It’s a challenge. Lately, sometimes it’s the only challenge I get.”

Ella nodded, beginning to understand. She moved nearer to him, and slid a hand onto his shoulder. “Trying to keep boredom at bay?” Not just boredom, but the stifling feeling of living according to expectations rather than possibilities.

“Just like you,” he pointed out. “I know it was some kinda sense of justice that brought you here, but you knew the odds weren’t good, and you needed to do it anyway. You needed to throw yourself into something that takes over your life for a moment, where there’s risk. And for me, since I’m not gonna take up train robbery or safecracking again, what’s left is cards.”

“So, you planning to run off and become a riverboat gambler, then?”

He started a retort, then realized they’d turned a corner, and she was joking. He raised his hand to cover the one that rested on his shoulder. “Nah, that’d be boring, playing all the time, ‘cause I had to. No, just . . . sometimes. Because I want to.” He grew serious again. “You said I wasn’t ever gonna be a Sunday School teacher, and you weren’t wrong. You chose to be with me, knowing who I was, just like I chose you. Speaking of which, you’ve been more . . . more yourself lately.”

“Difficult, distracted, and rarely around?”

His dimples showed as he grinned at that. “Those. But all the other things, too. More alive, somehow. More . . . you.”

“I’ve felt more . . . me.” So he recognized it. He still saw her for who she was, as Ella, not just “the wife.”

“Well, then you know how I felt, playing cards last night. Like myself, the real me. I promise I’ll never do anything to hurt you and Rachel, but outside of that . . . . ”

She nodded. She’d known what she was getting into when she married Hannibal Heyes, after all. “Easy come, easy go? Above and beyond a certain level of financial security. . . . All right. I can live with that. I haven’t much liked most of the wealthy folks I’ve met, anyway.”

He abruptly shifted subjects, or maybe not. “So when we get to Denver, if the mine checks out and it looks like we’re gonna stay for awhile? You’ll look into getting admitted to practice law there, yes?”

“It’s not so easy for a woman who’s not known in a place. Who doesn’t have a father in town, with a law firm she can join. But I’d like to. We’ll see.”

He reached forward and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.” And then he kissed her, and soon they weren’t thinking of anything but the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story has its origins in a reference in "Restless Heart," the original concluding story in the Ella sequence, which is a few down the line from this one. In Venice, Ella says: _If only Heyes had been free to accompany me. But he'd won a silver mine in Colorado, in a poker game down in New Orleans. The mine had only been wagered because it was supposed to have been played out, but then a whole new vein had been discovered. Now he and the Kid had their hands full with the managers and engineers they'd had to hire. "These so called honest folk just don't seem to be as reliable as outlaws," was Heyes’s response to the day-to-day operations._ Coming back to fill in the storyline twenty years later, I started to get an idea of why they were there. The trial that Ella gets involved with was inspired by Neil Young's song "Powderfinger," had it been set back in the 19th century. And in the New Orleans that was, it seems inevitable that Heyes would find himself with enough cards to satisfy even his keen appetite. Of course it occurred to me how probable it was that Kid Curry's path would cross with Michelle Monet's, once again, especially as he becomes more and more certain that Sandy is never coming back to him.
> 
> Much gratitude to Nebraska Wildfire for keeping me honest, and not letting me make things too easy. This story is much the better because of her.


End file.
